A Deathly Kiss
Chapter 6 - Privet Drive and Beyond
His death was, quite possibly, the most anticlimactic in history. He'd killed people in much more dramatic ways.
How was it that Heleus Slytherin, the Dark Lord's consort, his most prized assassin, could just be killed by an inferius? Drowned to death in a dark lake in the middle of nowhere? It should be impossible.
But no, it happened.
And less than ten minutes after he died, or at least that's what it felt like, he came back to life again. Except for this time his body was much smaller and much more fragile. Almost like a child... He looked around and saw the large white wooden bars of a cot and knew it to be true. The roof of the was burning from the impact of a spell and the night sky was clearly visible, even with his now blurry eyesight.
He looked around the rest of the room and his eyes were almost instantly drawn to the body on the floor beside the crib. She was a young woman, probably around 20, with stunning auburn hair and gleaming emerald eyes that were permanently frozen in shock and horror. Another thing he noticed was the dark cloak lying in the center of the room without any obvious owner, within its folds he saw the unmistakable form of a wand handle.
He gathered as much magic as he could, which wasn't very much baring in mind wandless magic had always been Tom's forte rather than his, and managed to push the bars of the crib downwards so that he could pull his weak body out and across the room until he reached the wand. As soon as it came into contact with his childish fingers he recognized it for exactly what it was. 13 and a half inches, yew, phoenix feather core. Something in his heart lurched as he frantically clutched at the robes, they were embroidered with faint snakes in a dark almost black color of green. He recognized these as something he'd given the man himself not three years ago.
His head snapped to the side as he started to reassess the dead woman with new eyes.
Lily Potter.
They had a file on members of Dumbledore's so-called Order of The Pheonix back at the headquarters. She was labeled as one of the key members alongside her husband, the Longbottoms and a few other influential families. And here she was, dead. Presumably alongside her husband. She was also, apparently, his mother.
The thought made him shudder imperceptibly. This woman wasn't his mother, not at all. Perhaps her DNA went into building this new body that he now seemed to inhabit, something that he hadn't predicted when they enacted that ritual oh so many years ago, but she would never be his real family.
His mother was a woman by the name of Antheia Andrea. A beautiful Greek woman with golden skin and golden hair to match. She was smart and cunning and a complete free spirit. He still remembered the times she used to sing around the villa and introduced him to the animals outside. She always spoke with a calm tone and an ever knowing glint in her eyes. She raised him and she was some of the only true family he ever had, not this imposter.
A door downstairs crashed open and he dropped the wand immediately, crawling back along the floor to the crib and securing the bars back in place with his magic. Merlin this body disgusted him.
The door was blown open and he was met with quite the interesting sight indeed, Severus Snape, supposedly loyal Death Eater, with a sweaty panicked face that turned into horror as soon as his eyes fell on the woman. He collapsed to the floor and gathered her into his arms, clutching her as he let the tears blow flow down his face mumbling words of apology and sorrow. It was only when he calmed that he seemed to notice him in the room.
It must've been a shocking sight, a small child clutching the bars of his crib with an intense gaze that should never have belonged to someone so young. The baby shed no tears, only watched in curiosity and fascination at the scene before him.
The man laid the woman down slowly and gently and placed one long kiss on her forehead before leaving the room with a flourish of his robes.
It didn't take long for more visitors to arrive, this time in the form of an even more familiar figure.
If he wasn't so sure the man had already fled the country, he'd be certain the man before him was Regulus Black. Common sense told him that this was instead his brother Sirius, Heir, or soon to be ex-Heir, of the House of Black. Auror robes denoted his position in the ministry and he looked equally as distraught as the man before him, probably from just seeing the dead body of his friend James downstairs.
The man leaned down, laid a kiss to Lily's forehead just as Snape had before, and used two fingers to close her eyelids in a sign of respect.
Then he came for the crib and leaned down to pick him up, clutching him close to his chest, "Don't worry Harry. Uncle Padfoot's going to take care of you". He pulled him away slightly and Heleus got the first glimpse of his eyes and felt a small tinge of pain at the sight of them. They were just like Lucretia's. He knew this man would care for him, the House of Black always pulled through.
He yawned widely as his small body suddenly became weaker and tiredness began to set in. Sleep claimed his body just then as he fell asleep in the arms of Sirius Black.
He dreamed about dark water and drowning and the charming smile of Tom Riddle that he'd somehow managed to fall in love with.
Whilst the Wizarding World was celebrating over the defeat of the Dark Lord, Albus Dumbledore sat in his office in contemplative silence.
Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort as he proclaimed himself to be, had gone after the Potter Family as directed by the prophecy and killed both Lily and James in cold blood. Miraculously, young Harry had managed to survive the attack and had been named the Boy-Who-Lived by the Daily Prophet as soon as the news broke out.
He shed a tear for the young man and woman, taken so young from this world. Both of them were kind, smart and so devoted to their family that they were willing to die for their child. It was heartbreaking. But Dumbledore couldn't let it get to him, the public was looking to him for guidance and he couldn't let emotion cloud his judgment at times like these.
First on his list of worries was Tom Riddle himself. Nobody had been found and the fact that his wand had been left behind made it certain that his body had been destroyed but Dumbledore knew that the man would return with a vengeance one day and he'd need to keep his Order prepared for the day when that came.
Death Eaters had started being caught left right and center, resistance was minimal in the face of the destruction of their Lord and the coming months would be filled with the trials and executions of some of the worse offenders. He already knew from his contacts at the Ministry that Lucius Malfoy and the like were trying to plead the Imperius curse and with the political power they had they'd probably be believed. He felt sickened that a man like that would still roam the streets after all that he'd done.
Another worry that he had was for his old student, Heleus Vasilikas. The Dark Lord's Consort. The man hadn't been sighted for months and he hadn't even resurfaced when it was announced his Husband was dead and he now knew it was very likely he'd met his own demise. He felt deeply saddened by this. Heleus had always been one of his favorite students, intelligent and passionate about his studies. He'd always been fascinated with the obscure and the unknown and he'd found common interest with his old Professor many years ago. Their conversations were some of the highlights of his career and he hated that couldn't stop him falling to the dark. Sometimes he wondered whether he could still be saved...
No. It wouldn't do to dwell.
The final, and by far the most important worry at the time, was concerning young Harry Potter. The only person in history to have been hit by the Killing Curse and survived. It was extraordinary yet he knew there must be something else at play.
He'd had Hagrid collect the child from the Potter's as soon as possible and was brought to Hogwarts for a medical scan that showed his body suffered minimal trauma from the curse however there was some magical residue left on him. Some Dark centered predominantly around the scar and the rest was a light white bubble surrounding his body like a shield, it was attacking the Dark magic like an antibody. However, the light magic was fading and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't get it to stop.
The magic was his mothers. Ritualistic. Sacrificial. Something that hadn't been performed for centuries and would probably be considered evil in this day and age. Who could blame her? The lengths a mother would go for her child were extreme. The magic itself could only be maintained by blood and the only living person of Lily Potter's blood was her sister. Petunia Dursley.
Minerva McGonagall had been watching the Dursley household all day and the results she'd brought back weren't promising.
They were rude and selfish and 'the worst possible type of Muggles there is'. He couldn't, in good conscience, send a child there. But what option did he have? Sirius Black, his Godfather, had dropped off the face of the earth and it was still unclear if he really did betray the Potters. He couldn't place Harry with the man only to find him a traitor after all.
Remus Lupin, another close friend of the Potter's, was a caring and gentle man but due to his status as a Werewolf, the ministry would never accept him as the guardian of their new savior.
Most of the Order members were preoccupied trying to clean up the mess of war to care for a young child.
Right now, Petunia Dursley was his only option. He sighed in resignation and started to pen a long letter to the woman, hoping to appeal to the kind side of her that he'd seen in that letter years ago. He flooed Arabella Figg, a Squib friend of his, and asked if she could move to Surrey and keep an eye on the boy. This way he'd know if any harm came to him. Then he headed to the hospital wing to collect Harry Potter and take him to what would hopefully be a loving home.
Harry Potter was now six years old. That was the age he'd set as a guideline.
He'd wait till he was six years old and in that time he'd attempt to build up his basic skills. Reading, writing, walking and even something as basic as using the toilet were all complicated to do in this new body and he was determined to make sure he wouldn't make a fool of himself when he inevitably tried to go back to the Wizarding World.
Those six years were hard.
He'd fallen asleep in the arms of Sirius Black but woken up in a completely unfamiliar space. A dark room covered in cobwebs and saturated with the smell of mold. It was disgusting. He'd soon learned he was in the oh so loving hands of Lily Potter's sister, Petunia. A Muggle. A filthy disgusting Muggle who felt it appropriate to treat him like he was the scum of the earth. They'd made him cook and clean and near enough starved him, all the while telling him how much of a freak he was. How he was unnatural and should never have been born. He felt a sudden rush of sympathy for Tom. If this was what life was like in that Orphanage it was no wonder he'd turned into a homicidal maniac. No offense to him, of course.
Now at the age of six, he had also basic functions mastered and had minimal control over his magic. It was time he broke free from this hellhole.
His wandless magic was useless so he relied on the only magic he could use, which just so happened to be his specialty.
He stole a knife from the kitchen in the middle of the night and sterilized it completely to risk infection. Then in the early hours of the morning, he'd taken the knife to his forearm and started making shallow cuts along the skin. Enough to draw blood. He carved the runes and symbols required for an old form of the notice-me-not charm which would allow him to blend into the crowds without any attention being drawn to him. They glowed briefly before the wounds healed and dulled until the inscriptions were merely raised red scars. He then used the knife to carve a circle in the floor with his own blood.
After a while, he sat back and admired his work. A curse, placed within the walls of this house meaning that the blood of those inhabiting it would slowly turn to poison. It would happen over years and by the time they realized what was happening it'd be far too late.
He left the cupboard, not bothering to even pack his pitiful amount of personal objects, and headed to the front door. Once outside he activated the runes on his arm and headed for Diagon Alley.
The trek took hours, both because of his short legs and how different the London streets looked from this angle. He also toom adequate amounts of time to sneer at the Muggle's that walked past. The Leaky Cauldron wasn't really open for business yet but the owner always left the door open so people could come and go through the Alley as it was one of the few main entrances besides the floo. He headed quickly through the quiet streets and up to Gringotts where he knew the Goblins would welcome him with welcome arms.
Despite public opinion, he and Tom had always been pro-creature. Magic was just Magic after all and the only problem they had was with those who tried to reject their true heritage or taint it with that of the Muggle's. They'd approached many creatures like Werewolves, Vampires and Veelas all of whom had agreed with their propositions and rather than take an active role in the war had signed a treaty to show that they would neither attack nor assist either side of the war unless it was in self-defense. It also agreed that when the Dark Lord came into power he'd abolish all laws restricting magical creatures except for those that dealt with the traitors and those without clans.
The Goblins were always an independent state from the Wizards, only dealing with their money and never their politics. However, the promise from Tom to help return as many Goblin made items into their possession and to allow Goblins to practice their own form of magic, something which had been deemed illegal by the ministry, they were now on quite amenable terms. Certainly more so than the rest of the public.
The teller at the desk looked down at him with a sneer underlined with curiosity.
"Yes?" he growled.
"I wish to see the Potter account manager about an inheritance test".
The Goblin glared but then nodded sharply and pressed some sort of device. Soon after another Goblin came to bring him to the room. The door was mahogany and had the Potter seal painted upon it. Inside sat a short and particularly menacing looking Goblin with a placard reading Razortooth. He immediately pushed forward a piece of parchment and a silver knife.
Heleus bowed slightly in respect for taking his seat before him and slitting his palm, letting the blood drip onto the parchment and watching the words begin to form. He started to read.
Name: Harrison (Harry) James Potter
Mother: Lily Jasmine Potter
Father: James Fleamont Potter
Titles: Heir to the House of Black, Heir to the House of Potter
The list went on to show various facts and figures about his bloodline and then proceeded to draw a family tree dating back at least a few centuries. Razortooth snatched the parchment before he could read in more detail. Suddenly a frown came over his face and he slid the paper back across to him.
"Before we begin", he said in a sharp and cutting tone. "You should explain why your blood identifies you as Harry Potter whilst your magic says you're someone completely different.
His eyes snapped back down to the parchment where the words kept on fading in and out between Harry Potter and Heleus Vasilikas over and over again. He sighed deeply, "I assume you'd be aware of Magics of the Soul?"
The goblin nodded with a sneer on its face, "I am. It's very unlikely that a wizard would survive one of the rituals if that's what you're implying".
"Wizards can be a lot stronger than you might think", he stated. "And besides, the paper states who I am and I can assure you I quite surpass my reputation".
The Goblin grimaced in distaste but nodded once before setting the paper on fire to dispose of it. He cleared his throat with a stiff movement then continued, "As Heir to the Potter and Black lines you have full access to the family vaults. You cannot, however, claim the titles until you reach the age of your majority at 17, neither can you claim your Wizengamot seat or have any control over family contracts. You also have complete access to your trust fund which currently contains 30,000 Galleons and will be topped up every year till the age of your majority at 17. This account cannot be removed from you if you are disinherited however the family vaults can." He cleared his throat once again. "As you have been identified legally in the eyes of the Goblin state as Heleus Vasilikas you have the right to any vaults and titles you may have. The title of Heir Vasilikas was denied by you and was passed on, at the time, to the current Lord of the House, Idas. This title cannot be reobtained unless some accident was to befall your whole family and you were the only one left of the Bloodline". At this Razortooth gave a particularly vicious smirk which Heleus tried to ignore. He remembered Idas, Deon's older brother. He was intelligent enough and his aspirations had always been of the political kind. The House was in good hands.
"Seeing as Tom Riddle, AKA Lord Voldemort, is currently inactive you do have access to the vaults of both Slytherin and Gaunt which have over the years been sufficiently replenished and do house some heirlooms. The money is to be left in the vault but you may take any heirloom under the conditions that you do not attempt to sell or damage them in any way and that your ownership is purely on a temporary basis. Any vaults under either the name of Heleus Vasilikas or Tom Riddle alone are at your full disposal. This is all effective immediately." He slid a sheet of paper listing all of the vaults that he was the owner of and he raised his eyebrow at the amount but didn't say anything.
The Goblin then rapped on the table and a small door at the side opened up, allowing a house elf to enter holding a silver box which it placed on the table gently before scuttling off. The Goblin popped it open to show the rings displayed within. "These are the family rings deemed accessible to you at the moment by Gringotts". He gestured to the rings and he looked through questioningly. He recognized the Potter and Black but he was drawn to the two at the end immediately. The first was what could be deemed as his engagement ring but was first and foremost a Horcrux. The second was the ring denoting him as the Lord Consort to the House of Slytherin. He had worn them both with pride throughout his previous life. "All Gringotts registered rings return to their vault upon their owners to death to ensure they aren't lost."
Heleus slowly slipped his hand into the box and pulled out first the Potter and Black rings he slipped them both onto one of his fingers and watched in fascination as they both combined to create one flawless ring. The last two he knew you couldn't display quite so publicly so instead requested a golden chain which he slipped the bands onto and fastened around his neck, hidden under his ratty clothes so that nobody could see.
He was also given a single key which he was told would magically change its shape to fit into the locks any of the vaults he owned.
He nodded his thanks to the Goblin who ignored him completely and headed down to peruse through his vaults. He claimed various Heirlooms including a few swords and daggers as well as a new bow and arrow stowed away at the back of the Black Vault. It was quite stylish and made completely out of solid gold. He also collected the money he thought he'd need and left the bank with a small charmed bag filled to the brim with treasures.
He then spent the next few hours shopping around Diagon Alley finding what else he needed. Clothes and supplies were on his list but at the top were potions ingredients for a ritual he was hoping to perform. He could, of course, just continue aging in this body as normal but it would be far too strenuous and certainly wouldn't suit his plans. Instead, he wished for a way to split his body into two forms which he could change between at will. One, the body of Harry Potter that would age normally, the other of Heleus Vasilikas as he was before he died. It would make life a lot easier for him in the long run.
He quickly gathered all of his things and started leaving the Alley and out into streets of London once more. He got about 5 blocks before he felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see a kind looking man standing behind him dressed in a dark blue tunic with polished silver buttons. "Are you lost?"
He shook his head slowly and smiled sweetly at the man in a way only a child could, "No sir. I'm meeting my parents at a cafe down the road".
The man eyed him in suspicion then sighed, standing up straight whilst keeping a firm grip on his shoulder, "I have to hand it to you kid you're a very good liar". He started to pull him down the road back towards Charing Cross where he was led into a large stone building with a front that reminded him somewhat of Greek architecture. It would never compare of course.
He was pulled inside and sat down on an uncomfortable wooden chair. The building was busy and many similarly dressed men and women were rushing around. He watched as one man was pulled through the door with his hands bound together and a scowl on his bloody and disheveled face. It was then that he realized just where he was. The Muggle equivalent of the Auror department. Perhaps he should've taken Muggle studies at school after all.
The man came back with a tall dark-skinned woman in a blue pantsuit. She had a large kind smile on her face and took a seat beside him, pulling out a large sheet of parchment or something similar and starting to write with an odd contraption. "My name's Nora", she said slowly, "would you like to tell me yours?"
This was the beginning of his delightful foray into the Muggle foster care system. It would be an interesting experience indeed.
Harrison Potter, or Harry as he preferred to be called, was a delightful child in her eyes.
Edith Murray was a woman of about fifty-years-old and all the signs that came with age. Graying hair, wrinkles, the whole lot.
Her two daughters had left her home at least 6 years ago now and to pursue their own families and careers. She felt so lonely with them gone and knowing she could never have her children again she'd resigned herself to a life on her own knitting baby clothes to store away for if and when she had some Grandchildren to fawn over.
Then one of the women at her local crafts group had told her about the adoption and the foster care system. Apparently, her son and daughter-in-law were having trouble conceiving and were in the process of trying to adopt a little girl. She knew at her age it would be impossible to adopt a baby and raise it to fully grown but perhaps there was a sweet babe to occupy her heart for the time being.
She'd already taken care of one girl for three months by the name of Phoebe. She was bright and bubbly, always wanting to dress up and play games. She always called her Missus Murray with that adorable lisp and could use her puppy dog eyes she could get anything she wanted out of you. Edith had loved her, truly, but alas a young couple had come along wanting to adopt a child and her temporary care was over. Every few weeks she would receive a little hand-drawn image of a pretty suburban house or a little dog scrawled in bright yellow crayon. She cherished them but they weren't quite the same as those times when she'd sit down with the girl and help draw the pictures herself.
It didn't take her long before she got another foster child into her care.
Harry was described by his social worker, Nora, as very shy but extremely intelligent. He'd floated around various orphanages and foster homes over the last few years, at the age of 10 not many people wanted to adopt him anymore and he instead had to rely on people like her to have a real childhood. He'd been found wandering the streets at the age of 6 and had almost got away from the police officer when they pulled him in and set him up with Nora. She'd taken him to a small orphanage outside of the city that had many children his age for him to play with.
He'd spent most of his time in his room and away from the others, always with his head in one book or another. When the carers there talked to him he always replied in perfect sentences and that could almost be perceived as adult if it weren't for the childish pitch of his voice. He aced all of his classes and never fussed or complained. He was a little angel. Yet somehow he never lasted more than 6 months in one place at a time. When questioned, people would always remain tight-lipped over why they wanted him to leave.
Edith couldn't for the life of her guess what was wrong with him.
He was charming, polite. A complete genius and she was considering whether it was appropriate to talk Nora into getting him a place at a private school. Perhaps it would be a good option for him. He'd spend most of the year there with people of similar intellect and not have to worry at all about where he lived or who his new guardian was.
No there was nothing wrong with Harry.
At least that's what she thought. But then one day she'd come home early from her crafts group, she'd left Harry alone fully confident that he could mind the house by himself. He was very responsible after all. She'd shouted up the stairs for him to come and get the cake she'd bought from the bakery. Then she'd shouted again, this time a bit wary. Maybe he'd just fallen asleep. Something inside of her knew it wasn't true. No matter what day it was, Harry always woke up at seven and went to be at eight. He didn't do naps.
She crept up the stairs quietly and opened up the door to the small room at the end of the corridor, it used to be her guest room and was painted in appropriately neutral colors with a few astronomy posters on the wall that Harry had seemed particularly interested in.
What she saw when she entered scared the life out of her. There was her little Harry, knelt in the middle of the floor and clutching a sharp object in his left hand. The carpet was covered in red. Not just any red. It was blood. The vomit was already halfway out her throat when she spotted something beside him. It was a human arm, ripped from the socket and torn to shreds.
It was still twitching.
She didn't notice as the boy walked towards him and lifted his hands to her head. The world went blank.
When she woke up the next day she didn't remember anything of the previous day, that didn't seem unusual to her at all. All she knew was that she had to get rid of the Potter boy. He left a very odd feeling in her stomach and it wouldn't go away until his presence was purged from her home.
He moved out not long after.
Heleus hadn't planned on going into the foster system but when he'd met Nora it'd given him a perfect opening.
He couldn't just drop off the face of the earth and live out the next years as himself and not Harry Potter. People would ask questions. Where had he been? What had he been doing? Who had raised him?
The care home, although not particularly pleasant, seemed like a good option. He'd just blend into the background amongst the other kids and use whatever free time he had to prepare and hone his magic as best as possible. The carers couldn't split their time equally between every child and if he didn't act as boisterous and noisy as the others then attention would never be drawn to him and when a Hogwarts representative eventually came they'd be told he was a shy child and nobody would be any the wiser about his less than legal pastimes.
They'd tried to pass him around, of course, find the young boy a nice loving home to care for him but it never lasted. He made sure of that. The families were always far too clingy. They wanted to be nice to him and work through his trauma. They all assumed that because he was an orphan found on the street that he had troubles and they were the only people in the whole wide world that could cure him. Imbeciles, the lot of them.
He'd try and stick it out for a while but when it became too much to bare he would always find a way to make them get rid of him. Usually, it was something like putting spiders in their bed or just making them feel so uneasy about him that they couldn't be in the same room without getting shivers down their spine.
Old Edith wasn't actually that bad out of all of them. She seemed content with leaving him to his work as long as they ate meals together and had at least a few decent conversations a day. Other than that he would 'read' in his room and she wouldn't ask questions. One day she'd gone out to her crafts meeting and he'd taken the time to head out into Muggle London and find himself an unwilling test subject. He'd switched into his other form, the one created by his ritual to look exactly like Heleus Vasilikas, by slipping the rings off the chain around his neck and switching them with the ones on his fingers. He'd taken a potion then whilst in that form used some blood to tie it to the rings, that way whenever he wore them he could change between the two. It was good because he knew he'd never lose them. He never went out without them.
He'd gone out to find a strong Muggle who he could use as a sacrifice. He needed a bicep, to symbolize physical strength, and an eye to improve his frankly abysmal eyesight. This body had definitely inherited the Potter blindness.
He was just finishing with the process when the blasted woman had walked in and seen him at work. He was very sorry that he'd had to obliviate her but it was his only choice. He couldn't let something like this get out, especially to the likes of Dumbledore. Nobody wanted to find out the Boy-Who-Lived was a murderer.
It was only 3 weeks before Harry Potter's 11th body on the thirty first of July. His own was the 8th of April but he hadn't celebrated it at all since his resurrection. It just didn't feel right without Tom. Soon he'd be taking his first official steps into the Wizarding World as their savior. He knew that all eyes would be upon him. And it was very very likely that Tom Riddle's spirit would find its way to Hogwarts. He knew the man was out there somewhere disembodied yet he didn't know where, all of the rituals he'd tried to find him had fallen short. They were able to place him in Eastern Europe but not even a specific country and he couldn't leave his position here to go out on an uncalculated limb. Tom was smart, he would have a plan and as soon as Heleus caught wind of it he'd be right on board. Until then it was best to stay away, to help build up his reputation as Harry Potter. Who knew how important this would be in the upcoming war? If he was a spy, he could effectively change the whole game. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity, he had to take it.
Tom would understand, wouldn't he?
He felt a pang deep within his heart and took a deep breath. Just because he'd made a decision didn't mean it wasn't hard.
At the moment he was looking in a mirror, contemplating his own appearance. Fate seemed to be playing quite an annoying joke on him as it seemed to have chosen a body that was a paler and scrawnier version of his own. The features were more British and his hair was a complete mess but if you stood both of his forms next to each other one could at least see them as cousins if not more closely related.
This wouldn't do.
So he took a few drastic measures. First, he pulled a pair of scissors and started to snip away at the long hair he'd only just grown out so it couldn't be tied back in his signature look. Then he pulled a potion from his back pocket and started to massage it into his hair, the tips slowly started to turn a forest green and when his fringe flopped down in front of his eyes it was so striking that it bought one's attention away from his eyes. They were the same green as in his previous life, exactly the same. Some might be able to pass it off as being inherited by Lily Potter but for those that had known him, those that had looked into those eyes in their worst moments as their loved ones were ripped away, they belonged completely to the Dark Lord's Consort. One of the Darkest Wizards in European history. He then pulled out a pair of silver-rimmed glasses and placed them on his face, the lenses were just plain glass but they did have the effect of enhancing his resemblance to James Potter.
The rest of his body was fine. Regular meals and the strength ritual had made sure he was strong and no longer starving from the abuse of the horrid Muggle Dursleys. He was slightly above average height but he could tell he would never be the same height again and that didn't seem to bother him. With his increased metabolism he'd be able to start working on getting his old physique back. Running around the lake always seemed to work wonders.
All in all, he looked like a slightly shorter and marginally more rebellious version of James Potter. Exactly what he was aiming for. He mourned the loss of his hair but knew that as soon as he returned to his true form it would be restored once more.
He sat back down on the bed in the room of his most recent orphanage and waited. It wouldn't be long now.